


Too Early

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: KNBxNBA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 06:31:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: The thought of biting into a mouthful of frosting, cake, and custard filling this early in the morning makes Shintarou’s teeth hurt.





	Too Early

**Author's Note:**

> for kiss day
> 
> mura plays for the celtics in this too.
> 
> talk to me about mura's favorite boston food establishments (a list that would include [sweet](https://sweetcupcakes.com/))

The sun’s been up a few hours by the time Atsushi’s ready to venture outside, however reluctantly; it’s still before nine and Shintarou considers that a victory in the summer. They’d stayed up a little bit later last night, but it’s better (in Shintarou’s opinion) not to let their schedule keep slipping to the point where Atsushi wants to fall asleep at four in the morning and wake up at one in the afternoon. Yes, Shintarou’s promised him they can get cupcakes but it’s not a bribe if Atsushi’s going to pay.

Atsushi yawns and slumps against the wall in the hallway outside of their apartment while Shintarou locks the door, gathering his hair into a ponytail and letting it fall again against his neck.

“I don’t have a hair tie.”

Shintarou sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out one of the backups he always carries in case Atsushi forgets or the one he has breaks (a far-too-common occurrence).

“Thanks,” says Atsushi, stretching it on his fingers and scraping his hair back with his other hand, pulling it away from his face.

It’s really getting long; even pulled back it almost brushes the top of Atsushi’s shoulderblades, and even Shintarou can tell he’s getting split ends. He’ll probably cut it soon, abrupt and without warning and all himself; the ends will be rough but they’ll soften after a week or two and they’ll both get used to the difference. Atsushi glances backwards.

“You want to go back in?”

Shintarou quickens his pace.

* * *

Atsushi’s eyes scan over the cupcakes in the display case; he squints.

“Hey. We haven’t tried the banana split.”

Shintarou shrugs. “Then get it.”

“Do you want it? Do you think it would be good?”

“I don’t know,” says Shintarou. “It’s got cream filling; you’ll like it.”

“I don’t want to know if I’ll like it; I want to know if you will,” says Atsushi.

Shintarou sighs. “It looks fine.”

They’ve been standing in front of the counter for twenty minutes; luckily the store’s only other patron is a teenager reading a book and drinking iced coffee (for some reason, most of the people working downtown prefer something other than cupcakes for breakfast).

“Just fine?”

“It’s too early.”

The thought of biting into a mouthful of frosting, cake, and custard filling this early in the morning makes Shintarou’s teeth hurt. Atsushi places his hand on Shintarou’s shoulder, warm in the air-conditioned shop.

“Cappuccino?”

“Sure,” says Shintarou (at least there’s no filling in that one).

“Okay,” says Atsushi, to the exceedingly patient clerk behind the counter (who seems to know them by this point, which can only mean they’ve eaten far too many cupcakes in the past few weeks, offseason or no).

“One red velvet, one cappuccino, and two banana split.”

Atsushi’s thumb brushes past the collar of Shintarou’s shirt and against the side of his neck; Shintarou swallows.

* * *

The rush-hour crowd has mostly dissipated by the time they get back to their edge of the public garden; there are still people but far fewer than on a weekend or at lunch time when all the office workers try to stretch their half-hour to three times that length and sunbathe or eat lunch under a tree. But right now, the open lawn is theirs; the midsummer grass is still green and fresh and Shintarou tries not to think about possible stains on his shorts when Atsushi flops down and opens the cupcake box. Shintarou had gotten an iced coffee as well; the ice is already melted and his hand is slippery with condensation like the sweat pricking the back of his neck (speaking of people who need haircuts).

Atsushi pulls out both of the banana cupcakes, each topped with a swirl of yellow icing and a cherry, and he holds one out toward Shintarou (it’s still way too early for this, but Shintarou takes it).

Atsushi crams half of his cupcake into his mouth at once (he is incorrigible; Shintarou’s not one for giving up but he’s learned to pick his battles). He gestures his hand at Shintarou, and Shintarou brings it to his mouth.

The cake is light, the icing rich enough that Shintarou’s not quite sure how the cupcake doesn’t collapse in on itself. He looks up. Atsushi’s finished his, brushing the crumbs from his fingers onto the grass.

“How is it?”

He takes another bite, into the cool cream center, smooth and sweet. Atsushi looks pleased with himself for making the choice, and Shintarou would scowl if he could.

“It’s good, right?”

Shintarou, unlike Atsushi, does not talk in the middle of eating. He finishes the cupcake and folds the wrapper in his hand.

“It’s still too early.”

Atsushi leans forward, but it’s just to grab the red velvet for himself.

* * *

Atsushi dozes off with his head in Shintarou’s lap. His hair is coming undone, a few locks escaping the confines of the elastic, and Shintarou tucks them away from his face. It won’t last, but it’s nice to look at Atsushi like this, the patterns of light thrown on his face by the shifting leaves on the tree above them.

It’s nice for about twenty minutes, until the humidity starts buckling down like a reinforcement of gravity. Shintarou’s knees itch and the back of his neck is damp, sweat beading up and refusing to fall. The clouds and haze cover the outline of the sun completely fuzzing out the nuances of the light, and Shintarou thinks back to the thunder showers mentioned in last night’s weather forecast.

“Atsushi. Atsushi, hey.”

Atsushi rolls over, stretching his arm and nearly smacking the tree trunk.

“We should go.”

Atsushi sighs and looks like he’s about ready to go back to sleep.

“Atsushi.”

His eyes pop open and his hand reaches up to Shintarou’s face, thumb brushing across the tip of Shintarou’s nose. He looks at his thumb, as if expecting it to be stained or marked, and Shintarou reaches up to brush away whatever might be there. Atsushi grabs his hand before it can make contact, hauling himself up into a half-sitting position.

“There’s icing on your nose,” he says, and then leans over and kisses it.

“There isn’t,” says Shintarou, half-automatically and with the force of remembering brushing off his nose and feeling nothing while Atsushi had been asleep.

“Yeah, I know,” says Atsushi, pulling back and smiling, lazy and slow.

Shintarou wants to—he doesn’t know. Atsushi’s hand is still cupping his jaw, fingers spilling into his hair. He wants to kiss Atsushi, and so he does, soft and quick. (And if this is all part of Atsushi’s plan, Shintarou has no objection.)


End file.
